


candles melting

by Buttercup_ghost



Series: the truth is, i never changed (black and white is still grey) [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: /s, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game(s), Suicidal Thoughts, based on a conversation I had with my grandma :), it’s fun. It’s fun. We have fun, my parents aren’t dead like makis but this is literally a conversation I had, pregame harukawa maki, vent - Freeform, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 11:57:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: they see those the kids on the street, the adults trying but worn and tired, and her grandma says: they should just try harder, get support from their family.and with stalling breaths, the girl asks: what if they can’t get that help? what if their family doesn’t care about them? what if the street is better than them? what if they’re the ones who kicked them out in the first place, doomed them to the gutters?her grandma replies: they must have done something wrong, to make themselves unlovable.why else would their families be rid of them?
Series: the truth is, i never changed (black and white is still grey) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549219
Kudos: 17





	candles melting

“How could you say that?”

Her voice wavers, like a candles flame; that burning light waning.

She didn’t mean to get here.

Her grandma looks in her eyes, lips pressed and trembling, the way they get when she knows the other is right. “Well,” she says, her voice a bubble, before her lips press back and her eyes remain wide. She won’t say she’s wrong; she never will.

‘Well,’ she says, like that’s enough.

Her salt water eyes leak, red and waxing. It drips down upon her flame, barely missing with each drop. The candle wax drips further, and the flame burns higher as her eyebrows twist up, angry, a snarl painting itself on her face.

She’s crying, spitting, trying to keep herself in check. Trying to keep that candle within her chest, driping over ribcage. Locked away and safe from a world that wants to blow it out. But the wax is dripping out, now, overflowing, spat from her mouth in clumps. Her tongue is burnt and bleeding, refusing to be bitten on, too tender from her everflowing visceral.

Why?

And maybe the water in her eyes isn’t water at all, anymore. Maybe the liquid is gasoline, inticing the flame to climb higher, inticing her fingers to itch as the words fall like ash from her mouth. Maybe it is a forest fire in the making, each tear making it worse, salt burning in her eyes, redder still. She thinks of dead things, of golden coffins and guilded cages, and thinks.

She’d rather be anywhere but here.

Rather beaten or starved than this.

Her grandmas eyes are emerald and hazel, mismatched and beautiful, and it isn’t fair at all. She remembers her mother’s eyes, a deep rich brown that just landed flat, lifeless, as she stared at her like-

Why?

Why was her own eyes such a flat brown, only tinted red with her candle wax?

Her fathers oceans eyes flash in her mind, and she could laugh.

Such a disjointed family of colors, half turned to dust.

Why?

Why?

Why?

_Why?_

She’d rather be in a orphanage, lonely and starved and beaten and scarred, but by god, at least she wouldn’t be _here_, at least she wouldn’t be so _alone_.

And.

One day, she knows that candle in her chest will burn out, no more wax left to burn.

Will it use her lungs as kindling, then, choke her with the smoke and cremate her bones?

It’s a room full of two, and she is still so _alone_.

( _In the back of her mind, she remembers a show of blood and death and dark things, birds who fly into cages then cry and struggle, trying get free, desperation as the gold cage walls close in on them. A show where the reapers all laugh at them, the dead cheep entertainment and nothing more._

_ And the thought repeats— _)

**Why?**

She’d rather be dead.


End file.
